The Ruby
by HotCrossPigeon
Summary: Jack gets injured when a rival ship threatens to take over the Black Pearl. Lost without his ship, can he and the crew fight back? Or has the infamous Jack Sparrow taken a turn for the worst? Features Elizabeth, Will and Norrington also.
1. Rubys are red

_Disclaimer: Not mine I'm afraid. I own nothing tra la la. _

_Hello. It jumps ahead a bit at the start, just to warn you, but it should make sense if you read it through. Hopefully! I have another fanfiction on the go, so may be late in updating. Happy reading._

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"Turn her around," Jack said evenly, he was stood by the mast, a significantly worn and weather beaten three-cornered hat pulled over his eyes. He'd been thinking for a while, a strange thing to be sure, but the crew had felt it best not to tamper with the Captain when he was in one of his moods. A sigh escaped the pirate, and he tilted the hat up slightly, revealing his dark eyes. His beaded hair clinked softly as he took in the sight of Gibbs before him. "Let's fight them head on eh?"

"Are ye sure Cap'n?"

"Of course I'm sure!" Jack said as if it was the easiest decision he'd ever made, even when all evidence pointed to the contrary. He veered around, his first movement in a while, to peer at the ship behind them with deep black eyes. It waited silently on the waters; having just fired a three-stone cannonball in their direction. Jack knew what that ship was. He had a feeling the whole crew knew what that ship was; which was probably why they hadn't jumped at the chance to board it. "They started it," he said gruffly, "they can finish it. We're not gonna run away."

"Of course Cap'n." Gibbs replied, then turning to the startled faces of the crew he yelled, "Well? You heard him boys, turn 'er around!"

The Black Pearl swerved, a wave of turquoise sea water smashing into her blackened hull as she turned around to face the upcoming ship. Most of the crew fell to their knees at the ferociousness of the swerve, some gripping the ropes or clinging onto the mast for support, but Jack did none of these things. He merely leaned to one side, taking the moment to take a swig from the rum bottle loosely clasped in his hand. His eyes didn't leave the other ship.

Its sails were a dark rusty red, and the figurehead could be seen clearly as it swept forward through the waves towards them; a mermaid, her ruby eyes glinting darkly with the fading sunlight.

Red like blood.

Jack couldn't hold back an apprehensive shiver. _The Ruby_. It had finally come for them. They'd been warned of course. He didn't like to believe in such things, but the rumors had spread around quite a bit these past few weeks.

_The Ruby _had gotten quite a reputation as of late. People had begun to say it could rival that of the _Black Pearl_, that its crew could match Jack's sword for sword. That the Captain had never been seen, but if you stared into his ruby red eyes you'd be dead before you hit the ground. He was infinitely more terrifying than the Captain of the _Pearl_.

Now Jack couldn't have that. Of course, he wasn't stupid enough to go looking for this ship, but now that the _Pearl_ had narrowly avoided being hit by one of its cannonballs, they couldn't really avoid confrontation any longer. Those bastards deserved it.

He'd no idea where this ship had come from, but there was no way that any Captain in the entire Caribbean was going to beat Captain Jack Sparrow, not while he was still drawing breath and considerably intoxicated.

"What're the orders Cap'n?"

Jack swung his gaze to Gibbs, who he'd assumed had just spoken. Behind him the crew were gazing at him expectantly and some with a little concern. Well, he had just been staring at a ship solidly for at least ten minutes. "I'm sorry," he said huskily, "could you repeat that?"

Gibbs frowned, apprehension etched into his brow, "Jack, are ye sure this is a good idea? The crew and I… well we've heard these rumors…" he trailed off at the look in Jack's eyes, and started another approach, "Are ye sure it'd be wise t' fight with 'em _now_?"

"Tell the crew," he said, "that if we run away like little girls our reputation will get quite a beating, and if our reputation gets a beating, then we're more likely to get a beating from the next ship we come across, so to avoid a beating either way we have to avoid the running away like little girls that starts all this beating business off in the first place. And to do _that_, we have to take on that big ol' ship over there…" His grin widened, his ramble having made perfect sense to his rum-addled brain. Gibbs however, was frowning a bit too much, "Savvy?" he added with a grin.

Gibbs nodded reluctantly, "Aye sir. It's just-"

"Bring 'er around then, and load up the cannons, I'm betting this fight will turn a bit nasty."

Gibbs paused before nodding again, "Aye sir." He turned back to the crew. Jack sighed, patting his hat securely to his head; it wouldn't do for it to fall off during a swordfight now would it? If things got that drastic that is. He set the rum bottle on the floor hastily; it would probably come in handy as he sat nursing his bruised backside later.

_The Ruby'_s stained oaken side drew up alongside them.

"Well?" Jack called over the side of the ship, heart beating a little too loudly in his chest, "What did you want?" The deck was silent, his black eyes surveyed the other boat with a frown. There was no one aboard from what he could see. "Well ah," he grinned, revealing a few gold teeth that glinted in the half-light. "I'm glad you were all defeated so easily. You just remember that we won, and you lost, rather pathetically actually… savvy?" No answer came from _The Ruby_. Jack was beginning to think this was a little odd. He glanced over his shoulder at Gibbs, who only gave him an anxious look and a shrug of his broad shoulders.

It was then that they heard it. It was so quiet, beyond the steady lapping of waves at the _Pearl_'s side, that they almost didn't catch it. Jack narrowed his Kohl lined eyes, and pressed a finger to his lips.

He gazed around the _Pearl_, there was nothing but the creak of oak, and the soft groan as she fought to keep her place among the waves. The light was beginning to ebb around them, the darkness of night bleeding into the sky above. Jack motioned to Anamaria; she nodded at him and deftly lighted the lanterns and candles around the ship. Under the golden glow of the lamps, Jack could just make out the shadows across the deck, shadows that stopped in the middle of the floor as if marking objects that couldn't be seen.

Jack sucked in a breath, mind thinking back to the rumors swallowing Tortuga. _The captain of that ship had never been seen._ Could it possibly be?

His worries were cut short as a sudden gurgle sounded to his right; he swerved to look and immediately wished he hadn't. Averting his dark gaze, the thump of a body against the ground alerted him that he had indeed lost a crewmember. The ruby red blood from his still warm neck seeped into the deck.

A sudden rage coiled in Jack's chest. That they'd lost a life so easily was just too horrible to contemplate. A growl rumbled in his throat. He threw off the fear that had wrapped around him like a cloak and stepped forward.

He was Captain Jack Sparrow after all. So what if he couldn't see these adversaries? They could sure as hell see him, and he wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of watching him die without a good fight. He unsheathed his sword, the scrape of metal ringing in his ears. "Come and get me!" He yelled.

The shadows moved silently along the floor. Jack could just make out the black silhouette of a man stretched out along the floor, before the clash of two swords brought him back to attention. He swung out with his hand, only to be met with another clash of steel against steel as his unseen foe parried him back. Well, he was certainly at a disadvantage here, his eyes roamed ahead to find something that could come in use. The bottle of rum caught his eye. He let loose a fury of sword thrusts, backing his opponent, as far as he could tell, towards the port side. As the black railing came into sight, he ducked, rolling to the floor and making a grab for the opaque bottle with a sweaty hand.

He jumped up, uncorking the bottle with his teeth. Without a further thought he proceeded to chuck the contents all over the man in front of him. The sound of swords against swords ceased from behind him. He could feel the eyes of his crew burning into the back of his bead-infested hair. Desperate times called for desperate measures. He hoped they'd understand. It was only one bottle. Besides, there was plenty more rum below deck. He smiled a little at his sacrifice, watching as the dripping form of a man appeared before him. Jack pushed him squarely in the chest, his fingers feeling the wet stickiness of rum and toned muscle before the man slipped, his back connecting evenly against a flickering lantern.

It didn't take long before the flames engulfed his body; Jack squinted as the features of the man became visible, yellow and orange flames licking his face as his mouth opened for the last time in a scream of anguish. Jack pulled a face and looked away.

He couldn't dabble long though, he took a breath watching as his crewmates lunged and swung at invisible enemies. It would have looked quite funny, if there hadn't have been a considerable amount of blood about the place. No, Jack needed to do something, and fast. It was obvious that they were fighting a losing battle.

He could run down to the hold, grab a few precious bottles, climb up the rigging, douse the lot of them in rum and set them alight. Jack frowned at himself, that was a bad idea, not only would he be setting fire to most of his crew in order to get rid of the invisible pirates, but it was also a waste of good rum.

He brandished his sword ahead of him, warding off any opponents that would dare come his way. He could only think of one thing to do, it wasn't a very good strategy, but to hell with that. He yelled out a battle cry, and, with his hair beads clattering with every step, ran forward taking swipes at any spaces he thought could bear the opposition. Hearing a few satisfying grunts of pain he turned to see how his crew was faring.

The next thing he knew there was a white-hot pain in his abdomen, his mouth opened in alarm as he gazed down. He expected to see the hilt of a sword or cutlass sticking out, but there was nothing. Just a large growing stain of sticky crimson on his shirt. His dark eyes glazed over, like fog over an inky-black sea. He found his hands pressing against the wound, coming into contact with what felt like a sword handle. _Of course,_ he reasoned dully, _it's invisible_.

The sword pulled itself out, Jack could do nothing as he watched the blade appear before him, visible only because it was coated in a fine layer of his own blood. He didn't give them the satisfaction of watching him gasp as his legs buckled beneath him. His shoulder hit the deck, head lolling and cheek pressed against the cool wood. The _Pearl_ rocked, as if trying to soothe her hurt Captain, but it did no good.

The last thing Captain Jack Sparrow knew before losing consciousness was the feel of several hands gripping him. The worn leather of his boots scraped the floor, and his vision darkened. The _Pearl_ groaned in sorrow, but was helpless as Jack was hoisted up from the deck before finally succumbing to the pain and losing the battle with unconsciousness.

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_Review if you want another chapter, cheers!_


	2. Taken her

_You make me sad. _

_Thanks go to Redh for being the only person who took time to review the last chapter, you're an inspiration. Cheers! _

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Anamaria gasped, trying to keep her head above the inky darkness of the waves. She could see the faded black outline of the Pearl ahead of her, slowly melting back into the night. They'd taken her. They'd stolen her; someone had actually stolen the Pearl.

She couldn't believe it.

More so, she didn't want to believe it.

The waves slapped at her lazily, their icy touch shaking out of her daze. The enormity of the situation finally kicked in. They'd taken the pearl and here she was, lazing around in the sea like she was merely pottering around for a short swim. Where were the others? She couldn't remember much, just being clobbered on the head following a particularly nasty swordfight with a guy who she couldn't even see, next thing she knew she was hoisted roughly up by her wrists and chucked unceremoniously over the side of the ship.

It must have happened to the others too, she could vaguely remember similar splashes sounding as her own body hit the waves. But then, where were they?

A ghostly white slip of land was becoming visible just ahead; she grimaced as the sea water splashed into her face leaving the taste of salt on her lips, and heaved her arms forward in a hasty forward stroke. Maybe she'd be able to reach it before drowning. She chuckled a little at the thought, and that was when she saw it.

A strange darkness in the water, her eyebrows furrowed together, and she drew her fingers into it experimentally. Her hand came back in front of her face tinged with red. Blood.

And there was the culprit, head bobbing awkwardly in the waves, face ashen against the harsh dark water around him. The infamous Captain Jack Sparrow, unconscious and slipping below the pull of the tide.

"Jack!" she called out, powerful thrusts from her legs propelling her towards him. He didn't respond, she wanted to believe that he'd just been knocked cold, but from the deep red oozing into the water, was forced to think otherwise. She reached him, glancing at his closed eyes with concern and proceeding to throw one of his heavy sodden arms over her shoulder. With his dead-weight body threatening to pull her down into the depths, she started forward. Arms groaning with the effort of keeping them both afloat.

She had never thought she would prefer the feel of land beneath her feet to the loving rocking of waves. But the strip of sand on the horizon had never looked so beautiful.

…

Norrington heaved a sigh, his breath escaping in a cloud of dull grey before his face to dwindle off into the cold night air. He'd been unable to sleep and had wandered out onto the balcony in an attempt to ward off the sudden bout of insomnia, but it had only served to awaken him fully. Now he was leaning on the balcony rails looking out into port with cloudy blue eyes.

Something wasn't right, he could feel that much. The sky was a dull dark grey, and the night was much colder than it should have been. He wrapped his arms around himself to warn off the chill that had settled in his bones. No, there was something definitely wrong.

His eyes wandered absently over the horizon, taking note of a shadow darkening the waters. He watched it for a while, dimly aware that it was getting gradually bigger, speeding over the water at a deadly pace and coming nearer by the minute.

A ship. It was definitely a ship. He squinted, knowing that it struck him as painfully familiar, but somehow he found himself unable to place it.

He'd seen it before. It began to take shape, a dark hull and… He'd recognise those black sails anywhere. The Black Pearl. He leaned more heavily on the balcony railings. What on earth was it thinking coming here? Surely Sparrow wouldn't be that stupid, it was suicide!

But then, this was Jack Sparrow he was thinking of. And it _was_ the early hours of the morning; maybe he had some unfinished business and had decided to inflate his self-esteem a bit by walking into Port Royal under Norrington's very nose. Well, not while he had anything to say about it.

He walked back inside, pulling on some decent clothing before running out to the harbor. Sparrow could think twice about docking, if he wanted his neck in the noose so be it. Norrington' steps were more hurried that he'd care to admit as his feet pounded over the stained wood that paved the wharf. The ship drew ever closer, its sails drifting eerily in the early morning wind. Norrington stopped at the end of the dock waiting with barely concealed eagerness to tell Jack to hop it before he came too close. He folded his arms, stiff with lack of sleep, and gazed up onto the deck of the Black Pearl as it slid into the bay.

He frowned, blue eyes flitting curiously over the blackened wood. There was nobody on the deck.

…

It was early morning when the bedraggled figure of a young woman finally struggled her way onto the island.

Anamaria collapsed onto the sand, heaving in great breaths of air, as if they were going to be her last. Jack was lying face down in the sand as she had left him, her having been too tired to care anymore from lugging the great lummock up the beach.

She lay on her back, allowing the sand to caress her aching muscles as she managed to calm her racing heartbeat. Her legs were numb, too much swimming in freezing water she reasoned heartily, but the early morning Caribbean sun was just beginning to fleck the sky with pink above her, so it wouldn't be long before she was back in the scorching light, wishing for the cool of the waves again.

A voice startled out of her reverie, and she jumped scattering sand in a number of unholy directions, before snapping her eyes up to the offender in shock, "Anamaria?" it had said.

She squinted up at the man, greeted by the silhouette of a large torso and fairly short wet hair against the sky. She felt her mouth twitch up at the corners, the makings of a grin. So she wasn't the only one to make it alive. "Gibbs?"

"Aye," he said gruffly, but she knew from the tone that he'd had a smile on his face. He offered her a sturdy calloused hand, which she graciously accepted for once and heaved herself to her feet.

"How on earth-" she started, and then shook her head water flicking off from her bedraggled hair, "I mean, what in God's name happened?"

Gibbs sighed, a dark cloud settling over his features, "Me and some o' the lads managed to escape the Pearl with a boat… seein' as the only alternative was bein' chucked into the waves like so much bad grog, we opted to go out with hope o' survivin'."

"Oh," she said, glad that someone was able to find humour in the situation when it was such a dire one to find yourself in, "well they managed t' clobber me one in th' head."

"Ye swam here?"

"Aye," she replied, secretly glad at the amazed look on his face, "it was even harder with the Cap'n-" she stopped short, suddenly remembering that Jack was lying just a few feet away bleeding and unconscious and wet. She clamped her mouth shut and scrambled over the sand dunes, dimly aware that Gibbs was following her before she caught sight of him. She dropped to her knees beside the bedraggled form, hearing Gibb's sharp intake of breath behind her as he realized that the heap of soaking wet dreadlocks and leather was in fact, the Captain of the Black Pearl. She rolled him over.

Jack was quite a sight to behold.

His face was as pale as the sand below it, eyes closed and kohl smudged around them giving him the appearance of something not so recently deceased. More alarming however was the stain covering most of his lower abdomen. The sea had washed most of the blood away, and now his shirt stuck like rust-coloured paper to his chest. A new blot of deep red was beginning to blossom through. Anamaria felt her throat clench as she reached forward to pat his cheek, warm fingers against cold skin, "Jack?"

"Cap'n?" Gibbs asked from over her shoulder. Jack didn't so much as bat an eyelid. Not that he does that much when he's awake.

Was he even alive? She almost kicked herself at the very thought, of course he was alive. This wasn't just some lowly good-for-nothing pirate in front of her, this was Jack. He'd made it through much worse conditions than this. She moved her hand, feeling for a pulse on the side of his weather-worn neck. It was there, much to her relief. Not that she'd ever admit how relieved she actually was, all this saving people business was bad for a pirate's reputation. Jack would have to make it up to her later. Failing that she could always beat him to a pulp.

"He wouldn' want the crew to see 'im like this." Gibbs was saying, "But we're startin' t' build a fire, maybe he'd be warmer over by it."

Anamaria found herself nodding in reply. Jack could hang his ego, she wasn't about to let him dye of pneumonia. With her arms under Jack's armpits and Gibbs grasping the sodden leather of Jack's boots, they managed to waddle over to where the crew had managed to sprout the makings of a fire.

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_Review, right now, or ye won't be getting any more outta me ye hear?! _


	3. Who needs the help

_Thanks go to _Shinyi_ for beta-reading this chapter. God knows, it needed to be done! _

_Also thanks for reviewing _TheOneAndOnlyGiftedGirl, A Sparrow's Soul_ (Who must be commended for the lovely emails) and _Shrink To Be

_Well, here it is:_

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Will woke to the sound of urgent banging against his door. At least, that was what he assumed it was, unless he'd somehow brought his work home with him again. Elizabeth had been none too happy that day.

The young man got up blearily, pulling on some trousers and wondering what on earth could possess someone to be awake at this hour. With long strides he went to answer the front door. Before he could even ask what had happened, Norrington barged through the threshold of his house, wig forgotten, face blanched.

"Mr. Turner," Norrington started, his breath coming out in short insistent gasps as if he'd run all the way from the port just to talk to him, "I know this is unorthodox, but you're the only one who knows Jack Sparrow enough to help."

Jack Sparrow? Will's tired eyes widened in surprise. Now that was enough to wake him up. Captain Jack Sparrow was here, making an appearance at Port Royal at this god-forbidden time in the morning? "What do you mean?" he asked, brows furrowed over his brown eyes in confusion. "What about Jack?"

"The Black Pearl has docked in Port Royal, Will." Norrington grasped him by the shoulders now, carrying on in a hushed anxious tone, seemingly unaware of the informal use of Will's first name. "There's no crew aboard her, and from what anyone can see, she just docked without a pirate to her name." He shook his head and swallowed. "No, that's not why I barged in on you like this, Will. People are dying. I want to know why."

"Dying?" Will managed to gasp.

Norrington looked him straight in the eye, blue orbs darkened by soft shock and sorrow, and Will realized just how serious things must be. "I suggest you ready your sword, Mr. Turner, and take a step outside."

…

Anamaria had her back against the fire, its flaming heat licking the aches and pains in her muscles and soothing her shoulders as she sat in the sand. It was a beautiful morning. The sun was much higher in the sky now, the orange of the sunrise fading back into the usual Caribbean blue. She squinted a little. It would have seemed much more beautiful if she were viewing it from the deck of the Pearl. But then again, if she was on the Pearl there'd be no time for looking up into the sky to gaze at the sun.

No, they'd be off pillaging and plundering, led by the infamous and somewhat wild Captain Jack Sparrow who'd gotten quite a name for himself now that the tales of his exploits were being told.

According to the local taverns he had a sharp tongue and a taste for danger and adventure, and was in fact so legendary that his hair was supposedly spun from pure gold. Anamaria brought her gaze down to the limp figure to the side of her warming back.

Looking at him now, he didn't look like any of those things.

They'd bandaged Jack's chest up as best they could using strips from the bottom of Gibbs' shirt, his being one of the driest though definitely not the cleanest of the materials to use. All the while they had taken great care not to show the severity of Jack's wound to the rest of the crew. The Captain wouldn't have wanted them to know just how mortal he was.

He was a stubborn fool after all.

For the most part the crew had miraculously made it out in one piece. That was the good news. The bad news was that they were stranded on a beach with no idea where they were, having in their possession only one water-dredged row boat, no food, and worst of all, no rum.

Well, at least they'd made it out alive. Cotton was asleep on the other side of the fire, from what she could see, his parrot doing the soft snoring for him. Other crewmembers littered the sand, exhausted from the battle aboard the Pearl and the rowing to the shore. How they'd managed to fit so many people in one boat she'd never know.

She found her thoughts wondering back to Jack. There wasn't much they could do for him without some type of medical aid, and that didn't seem very likely seeing as they were stranded on an island at this moment in time.

The bandages had blossomed with red as soon as Anamaria had wrapped them around the Captain's chest, but there was nothing else she could have done to try and stop the bleeding. So, with help from Gibbs, they had dragged him as near to the fire as they had dared. And there he had remained, not moving a muscle. Not moving at all, but for the slight wind that stirred his dreadlocked hair, softly clinking the beads together.

She couldn't stand seeing him like this. No, he was going to wake up now if she had to slap the life out of him to ensure it!

….

Will did his best not to let his mouth fall open in surprise. It was a wonder he hadn't woken from the chaos that was outside. The dusky morning light crept over the water, revealing the streets of Port Royal in a way Will could never have imagined. A man lay just a few meters ahead of him, dead, with a rose of blood seeping through his shirt. And it seemed his case was not out of the ordinary. "Norrington," he breathed, almost not trusting himself to speak, "what happened?"

Norrington didn't utter a word. Instead he strode forward, sword outstretched before him as if to ward off an unknown foe. He was heading for the docks. Will shook his head solemnly and followed. He could almost feel the lifeless glare of the dead man's eyes on his back, but he merely stepped over the limp body and didn't look back. Since there was nothing he could do, the best bet was to follow Norrington into whatever plan he'd managed to conjure. He grimaced. Jack would never do anything like this. Something must be terribly wrong.

They were nearing the docks now. He could just see the commodore's head in the dim light, hurrying ahead of him up to the dark silhouette of a ship.

There she was.

The Black Pearl, resting lightly on the waters. The waves lapping quietly at her hull. As another scream ripped through the dawn as they neared the ship, William could almost hear the body's impact against the floor. He squeezed his eyes closed tight. "Norrington?" he whispered urgently. "Where are we going?"

"Aboard." was the only answer he received, and he didn't think it was much of one. Will watched as the other man stepped onto the gangplank and up onto the Pearl. Was he insane? Probably, he reasoned before joining the commodore on the deck.

There was no one on board, at least not that he could see. The Pearl creaked beneath his feet, not the usual sigh of contented waves, but the sorrowful groan of loss. Will put out a hand to caress the railing, his hand coming away flaked with dried blood. Norrington was right, they'd all gone.

"What's happening?"

Norrington was still holding onto his sword securely as if afraid an adversary would pop out of the blue at him. His knuckles were white against the hilt. "The attackers…" He shook his head, some of his brown locks flapping unruly around his face. "This may seem ludicrous to you, Mr. Turner, but I assure you I say it with the utmost certainty. The attackers can't be seen, which is why people are being killed off so quickly. They don't even know what's hit them, and I'm pretty sure that whatever it is, it is not the normal crew of the Black Pearl."

Will nodded. When he'd already seen his fair share of cursed undead pirates, invisible ones didn't seem so ridiculous. "What about Elizabeth-" He caught himself. "Miss Swann? Is she safe?" Of course Norrington would make sure the Elizabeth was all right. She may not love him in return, but he definitely still regarded feelings for her.

"She should be. From what I've heard the enemy have kept mostly to the shore, so they must be looking for something. Now, we need to search, Mr. Turner. I'll look around here; you go below and search the cabin."

Will nodded, knowing full well that both of their lives were at risk. He couldn't help but think that Norrington was doing the honourable thing and keeping guard, for any foes would have to go through him before reaching Will, and surely there was not much to be found above deck. He sighed, running down the steps to Jack's cabin; at least he'd be able to get some answers concerning the whereabouts of the Captain of the Pearl.

He swung open the door.

Jack's cabin was average-looking. A few maps were stacked in the corner, while a worn-looking compass wound with string sat on its own on the dark oak of the desk. Light flickered from a forgotten candle by the cabin window, its wax hardening in rivulets down its slim white body and pooling around the stained sill.

Well, this certainly wasn't right. Will swung around, eyes outlining every detail to make sure he hadn't missed anything. Or, more accurately, bottles of anything. Since when did Jack's cabin have no rum? And it was so… neat. Not that the Captain was particularly messy, but he tended to keep things reasonably disorderly so that only he knew the exact location of every object in the room and everyone else was left scratching their heads as to why a pair of socks was lodged behind the windowpane.

No, this wasn't right. This wasn't right at all.

So something had happened to Jack. Someone else must be captaining the Pearl, which would clear up why they were attacking Port Royal, especially when Jack's neck was overdue from an engagement with the gallows.

Will shivered. Jack wouldn't give up the Pearl without a fight. He paused to look at his hand, still coated with rusty blood form the railing. He had a feeling that the notorious Captain would be needing some help.

When he left the cabin the only thing missing was the worn old compass that had sat in silence on the desk. It didn't even point north, so what possible use could it have?

…

Jack could feel something. The gritty softness of the sand beneath his back made him aware that he was lying on a beach. He breathed a little, and immediately regretted it. There was an aching pain. In his chest.

Had he been hit by a gangplank? No, it must have been something more than that. His breathing hitched as he drew another breath. And… his face? Ow. That hurt, in a different way his chest wound did. It was a persistent naggy pain, something he'd felt it before. Quite a few times, now that he thought about it, though he wasn't sure he'd deserved it at the time.

Slaps. That was what it was. Someone was slapping him, repeatedly. And it was hurting. A lot. He opened his eyes and grabbed Anamaria's hand before it could deliver another stinging blow to his cheek. "Alright, luv, steady on!" he managed gruffly.

"Jack! Ye bloody fool!" was all he heard before he was enveloped in a tight hug. He patted Anamaria's back with a wince, not wanting her to know how much she was hurting him as her arms squeezed uncomfortably around his abdomen. When she failed to let go, however, he couldn't stop himself from grunting in pain.

"O Jack, 'm sorry, didn' mean t' hurt ye," she said, pulling back to look at him, concern in her eyes. It seemed that now she'd gotten all that god-forbidden slapping out of her system, any accidental pain she inflicted on him was worth apologizing for.

"No problem, luv." He would like to think that he'd made to lie down rather than fallen as Anamaria's arms guided him back to the sand.

His mind cleared a little as she fussed at a bandage covering his chest. After a short while, he asked, "What are we doin' on a beach?"

"Ye must remember, Jack," she said quietly, as if she were afraid he'd lost his memory. Or was it something else? Maybe she didn't want to tell him what had happened. It was something bad then, he reasoned dully. Well, if it was that bad it could wait until later when he'd gotten considerably less sober than he was now.

As her fingers prodded his midsection, he closed his eyes, refusing to cry out as spasms of pain shot their way through his skin. He tensed, and she hushed him even though he hadn't made a sound. "'S alright Jack. Yer going to be fine."

He would have answered a particularly witty comeback to that, if he'd have had the strength. But right now his eyes seemed to be closing all of their own accord. It was an odd sensation, to watch as the colours of the world around him slowly bled into darkness. Anamaria's soft dark brown hair faded into the shadows. He didn't even notice as his head fall back to the sand. But Anamaria did.

A soft pat to his face opened his eyes, the darkness shrinking back as the woman pirate's face came up close to his. "None of that, Jack. I'm gonna need you awake."

He grinned, a tired worn grin that showed only a couple of his glinting gold teeth. "Why's that, luv?" Despite the obvious pain that showed in his dark eyes, he still put in the effort to flirt a little. "What're ye plannin' on doing with me?"

Anamaria smiled at this, smoothing the bandages on his chest with soft fingers, "If ye weren't so beat up I'd hit ye."

"Hasn' stopped ye before."

She ignored him, peeling back the bandages on his chest, wincing when her eyes met the horrific wound on his chest. It wasn't the size that had her worried; after all, it was a stab wound that was relatively small, the breadth of a sword. However, the blade seemed to have run him straight through and the bastard who'd inflicted it must have had the courtesy to twist his blade. She traced her fingers around the inflamed edges, trying to cool the heated flesh but only succeeding in earning a pained gasp from Jack. Without anyone to treat it, infection seemed to be putting its oar in, so to speak. The Captain wouldn't last long unless they got off this island, and without help that didn't seem very likely at all.

…

…

_Review please x_


	4. Cold, collapsing, and compasses

_That's right, you're not delusional, I'm actually updating. School's such an oversized bottom, I can tell you. Anyway, my thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter, you all deserve big hugs. Here's a long chapter for you as I'm feeling generous and guilty for making you wait so long._

_Special thanks to Sparrow's Soul for making me get off my arse and do something. Gotta luv ya and yer persistant nagging! Lol, no really thank you x_

…

…

Will emerged onto the deck of the Black Pearl, hand deftly slipping Jack's compass in to jacket pocket before turning to Norrington. The military man was standing proud, sword out in front of him in the familiar pose, keen blue eyes scanning ahead for any threat. Not that it would do him any good. It was sheer luck that they'd made it this far without being skewered. He obviously hadn't moved an inch since Will had gone below, so much for searching the deck.

"Keep quiet Mr Turner." Norrington's voice was hushed as it floated back to him, and he glanced at the blacksmith before continuing, as if to make sure that it was in fact Will he was talking to and not some invisible pirate about to strike him down. "I think I heard someone down on the dock."

The wood to the portside of the Pearl creaked ominously as the commodore finished his sentence, and Will unsheathed his sword from its holster on is hip, cautiously edging away from the sound. "How are we supposed to fight when we can't even see?" he whispered. It was true he was one of the best at his craft, he doubted even Jack could best him if they played through the proper rules of engagement. But fighting adversaries that he couldn't even see was a little on the ludicrous side.

"I think that's the point." The commodore replied curtly.

Another creak sounded from the dark floorboards beneath their boots, this time a fraction nearer the two unlikely comrades than they were comfortable with. Together they backed away until Will felt the brush of the Black Pearl's railings against the material of his jacket. "Well James," he said, his throat dry as his brown eyes scrutinized the deck ahead, "now would be a good time to make a break for it, don't you think?"

Norrington swallowed, "After you."

Will set his jaw and with his sword blindly striking ahead of him he charged forward with a cry. His legs led him right across the deck. And straight into the railings on the other side of the Pearl. The top deck was empty then he concluded, pulling his sword where it was embedded in the Pearl's blackened wood.

"I guess they're not here after all." Came Norrington's voice behind him.

Bloody commodore.

"Will!" He yanked his sword free in his surprise. That wasn't Norrington's voice, it came from below. And it was a very familiar sounding, as it happened. Will clambered back up to his feet as gracefully as he could muster, after running madly across the Pearl a slight blush had crept into his cheeks, "Will? Will! I'm down here." He gazed down over the side to the dock, eyes widening as they came to rest upon the figure currently trying to look as inconspicuous as possible below, "I wouldn't think you'd leave your future wife with a load of villainous pirates like you did! Most ungentlemanlike."

His mouth flapped open, "Elizabeth?"

"Elizabeth?" Norrington echoed, running to join the blacksmith at the side of the Pearl, "You shouldn't be out here – the streets, the pirates – It's not safe Miss Swan."

"Oh, I see." Will could just make out Elizabeth placing her hands on her hips through the shadow she'd managed to hide herself in, "So when The Black Pearl just happens to pull up to Port Royal, and the town gets looted, and people get murdered, and there's no sign of Jack Sparrow anywhere, I'm supposed to sit inside doing embroidery?"

"Uh." The commodore was a little taken back at that. Will guessed it was his turn to be speechless for once, "…Yes?" he ended lamely.

…

The sun had risen considerably, making Jack squint his dark eyes which, the kohl having being smudged away by the sea water, were now unprotected from its harsh glare. The heat was beating down on his exposed head; he could almost feel his energy evaporating up into the cloudless sky like so much sea water. Where was his hat? Had he lost his hat?

He groaned a little and turned on his side, careful not to pull at his wound, it was aching enough already. He couldn't remember what had happened; somehow here he was lying on some god-forsaken beach without a hat. It must have been something bad. And the Pearl, where was she? He managed to lift an arm and cover his eyes with a sigh. The headache that was developing didn't help in the slightest.

Then something came back to him, this wasn't the first time he'd woken up with the feel of the sand under his back. No, he remembered. Anamaria was here.

"Ana?" he asked quietly, arm still shading his eyes from the intense sunlight above, "Anamaria?"

"What is it," came the brusque reply above him, a cool hand stroked his forehead, "ye hurting?"

He laughed a little, how could he not be hurting? It was a miracle he wasn't dead. "No 'luv, it's not that… My memory's a little foggy though." The hand on his forehead didn't move, so he took this as encouragement and carried on, "Would ye mind telling me how we came to be in this here situation?" He heard a sigh then. It didn't seem right hearing Anamaria sigh. She was more the: argue, slap and chuck over the side kind of girl. Jack moved his arm slightly to get a better view of her face. He soon wished that he hadn't. "Luv?" he asked.

"Jus' get some rest Jack."

It _was_ something bad then. Of course it was something bad. He breathed out painfully, breath hitching in his chest, "It's Captain luv… and as your captain I'm askin' ye to tell me."

Anamaria avoided his gaze, eyes somehow engrossed in the sand cradling her legs. It was quiet, he almost didn't catch it. "They took the Pearl, Jack."

They took the Pearl. Such a simple sentence. The pain in his chest worsened suddenly, and his hand unconsciously came up to rub the skin over his heart.

His Pearl. His Pearl was gone. With her captain, the only one who could control such a beautiful untamed ship as her, on his last legs lying in a derelict beach in the middle of nowhere. They'd lost each other.

No. _He'd _lost _her_. What kind of a Captain was he to lose his ship?

Arm suddenly to heavy to hold up, he let if fall back into the sand. A sudden lump had formed in his throat that had nothing to do with thirst. He nodded dully at Anamaria whose face had grown concerned at his lack of a response. His eyes darkened despite the harsh light overhead. Yes, he deserved this pain.

He deserved the thrumming ache in his head; he deserved the agony in his chest that was making it so hard to breathe. He deserved it all for losing her again. He'd let it happen.

"Jack?"

Jack merely closed his eyes, feigning sleep, and after a while Anamaria stopped the soft caressing of his forehead. He heard her soft footfalls as she walked away from him. It was nothing more than he deserved.

He lay like that, chest throbbing dully, until the sun paled back into the horizon, and the lilting navy blue dusk entered the sky.

…

"Well we need to find Jack!" Elizabeth said impatiently, "hiding in this cabin is doing no good at all!"

They all knew that. The sound of the not so far-off cries from Port Royal could easily be heard in the small room they were seated in. They'd dared not risk taking the _Pearl_. For one, making the pirates who were sacking their town angry was not high up on their to-do list. Instead they had taken up residence in a smaller ship owned by Norrington. The _Lassynia_. It had taken enough effort to get aboard, and now they could do nothing but sit tight and wait.

It was driving Elizabeth mad. "We have to do _something_."

"We can." Said Will, reaching over the table to hold Elizabeth's hands in his. His eyes were bright with the sting of adventure. "We can sail this ship to Jack, he'd know what to do. And he may be needing our help. Besides… he'd do anything to get the _Pearl_ back."

"A lovely sentiment I'm sure," drawled Norrington, if he saw the two lover's affection for each other he said nothing, "but I'm afraid we have no idea where Sparrow is. How on earth can we hope to sail a ship and find him?"

The compass made a heavy thud on the tabletop as Will released it from his grasp. He unwound the leather strap from around his finger, allowing the compass to lie seemingly innocently on the hard oak table. "I think this ought to do the trick."

"Jack's compass." Elizabeth breathed. Jack would never leave it behind willingly. "Where did you get it?"

"I found it aboard the _Pearl_." The dim light, they'd allowed the cabin to be lit in to avoid being seen, glinted off the compass's casing. "We can get our heading from this."

"But Port Royal," started Norrington, "I can't leave; it's my duty to protect this port."

Yes it was his duty, and his duty now was saving the only man who could help them get out of this mess. Elizabeth put a note of pleading into her voice that she knew he wouldn't be able to resist. "There are others James, what about Gillette? He can handle it, surely. Besides if you go back out there the only thing you'll succeed in doing is getting yourself killed."

"But we don't even have a crew." He protested.

"You can get one James, we can find one. There's bound to be someone willing to get off the island." She continued, "If we don't find Jack soon Port Royal isn't going to be the only town at these pirate's mercy. This is bigger James. You have to help us."

The commodore nodded hesitantly, despite his misgivings Elizabeth was right. And if she was determined to go gallivanting off, he wasn't going to let her go by herself and that fiancée of hers.

But Jack Sparrow, he was a hard man to figure out. Even if they did find the pirate, assuming he was fit to help them, there was no reason he wouldn't just take back the Pearl and continue the looting of the town. Could they trust him? Could they put all their trust in the hands of one man? Of one lowlife, rum sodden pirate?

Norrington sighed, eyes roaming the floor. He'd seen what Sparrow was capable of. That man was a marvel, completely mad and so wrapped up in tales it was hard to separate the actual truth behind his facade from the fiction he chose to enlighten everyone with. But then he couldn't just sit idly by and do nothing while his home was pillaged. Jack Sparrow was their only hope.

"All right. Miss Swan, Mr Turner. I trust you can find a heading while I'm gone. I'll be back within the hour with a crew." He turned to leave stiffly and then halted at the doorway. A smile turning the corners of his lips. "I am agreeing to go along with this plan because it is the only one we have. But if we find Sparrow on a beach somewhere drinking rum, I'll not be held responsible for my actions."

…

Jack wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, glad that no one had so much glanced his way since the morning. They must have taken the hint, which was a pity because he didn't feel like being alone any longer.

The Pearl was long gone by now, but sitting here feeling sorry about it was going to do nothing. Who were they to steal his ship? Cowardly stinking pirates that no one could see, that's what they were, and if they thought they could stumble across Captain Jack Sparrow and sweep the Pearl out from under his feet they had another thing coming. He was going to get off this island for starters. He was going to hunt them down if it took until his dying day. He was going to take back his ship. And he was going to make them wish they'd never ever laid eyes on the likes of him.

They were going to pay sorely for what they did.

With the setting sun, came the night chill, and Jack was none too happy about it. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to fight off the shivers that racked his small frame, but to no avail. He could see the fire if he tilted his head to the right, but its warmth was just out of his reach. No doubt they'd left him on the edge of it thinking it would somehow keep him dry. Well, he had no doubt that their intentions were well meant, but that did nothing for the fact that he was still freezing cold.

"If ye want something doing right," he mumbled to himself.

Without further ado, the pirate captain lurched upright, boots finding unstable footing in the sand; head incredibly light, and body tipping haphazardly like the roll of the tide. He grappled for control over his legs, and somehow, miraculously, managed to stagger towards the fire.

His grin was so wide it nearly split his face in two.

Not even being run through with an invisible pirate's invisible sword could stop him. He was Captain Jack Sparrow after all, he didn't get injured. The very thought of an injured Captain Jack Sparrow was ludicrous! Preposterous even! Grammatically incorrect!

Although, it was rather hard living up to his name when the world wouldn't stop spinning around him.

He was nearing the fire now, and through the haze that was his mind, managed to recognise a few familiar faces of his crew basking in the heat of it.

A few heads turned his way, and Jack handled them with a beaming grin. His last thought was of how easy this all was, before his ill-timed legs decided they couldn't support him any longer. His knees hit the sand and he fell forward with a curse.

"Jack!" Hurried boots across sand. Gibbs and Anamaria no doubt.

Well he didn't need their help; he could bloody well take care of himself. He flung out his arms and caught himself before he could fall face-down in the shingle. That wouldn't do. He had a reputation to maintain.

"Jack! What in the lord's name are ye doing up and about? Are you trying to kill yerself?"

Ana's voice cut through his headache with practiced ease. Damn woman, making his head pound. He tried to think of a witty comeback but barely managed a "No." before several hands hauled him to his feet. He waited a while for the world to right itself before opening his eyes fully. His hand came up to rub at his chest again though it did nothing to still the roaring ache; his slightly glazed eyes looked up and met with the anxious face of Gibbs.

"Are ye feeling alrigh' Cap'n?"

No. And he would never be until he took back his beloved Pearl from the grasp of those despicable ingrates.

"Perfectly." Jack said, peeling off the various limbs that had decided to accumulate about his person with a wary grin. "I was just making my way over t' the fire actually mate."

Gibbs nodded, grasping Jack's arm and pulling it over his broad shoulders before the captain could open his mouth to protest. "Let's get ye there then Jack," he said softly into Jack's ear, "wouldn' want ye to fall on yer face in fron' on the lads."

They made it to the fire without further incident. Jack's legs very nearly collapsed by the end of it, but he was reluctant to share that minor detail with the rest of the crew. "Must be the rum I had yesterday." Was his hurried explanation. No one had the heart to tell him that he'd slept right through yesterday. In fact he'd been unconscious for more than two days now.

Gibbs noticed the way the captain sat; cross-legged and back huddled over slightly as if he was fighting the urge to curl in on himself. His face was pale under the Caribbean tan and his usually over-expressive hands were clenched tightly at his feet. Jack had always talked with his hands, wafting them about in front of a gold-glinting grin, it was a distraction Gibbs had always thought, from the persuasive lies he was weaving at the time. But now he was still, eyes dull and hands silent. This wasn't the Captain they'd grown to love.

Before Gibbs could wipe the look of concern off his face, he was captured by Jack's dark gaze. He couldn't find the effort to look away, Jack's face was enough to break a man's heart, he could see straight past that strained grin. The wound was definitely taking a toll on him; it was only a matter of time. "What is it Mr Gibbs?" came his dulled voice.

Gibbs shook his head, noticing how Jack unclenched his fists as if aware that he had somehow exposed the true state of his health. The notion was badly chosen however, as now Gibbs could clearly discern the shakes of Jack's fingers at they lay curled in the sand. "It's nothin' Cap'n." he replied quietly.

…

The commodore's footsteps could be heard softly making their way up to the deck. He'd be able to find a crew; Elizabeth knew he would. Many of his men were loyal enough to follow him anywhere, on any mission, even if said mission was to rescue a certain infamous pirate captain whose ship had just destroyed half of their town.

For all her worries James had chosen to do the right thing.

Elizabeth picked up the heavy compass that had taken to rolling haphazardly on the tabletop much like its owner before it, feeling the smooth comforting weight of it in her palm. She flicked it open with her fingers and closed her eyes. _Jack,_ she reminded herself, _I want to find Jack, we have to find Jack_.

She hoped nothing had befallen the pirate, but from what James and Will had told her of the Pearl it was obvious someone had taken it from him. That meant either he and the crew had managed to escape or… something much, much worse had happened. It had to be the former. It had to be.

She opened her eyes and the needle moved obediently under her gaze. _Come on, find Jack_. She urged it, but when she followed its direction she already knew where it would be pointing. And it definitely was not at some drunken dreadlocked pirate captain.

Will's brown eyes peered expectantly back at her, and she shook her head regretfully. "It's not working is it?" he asked.

"No." she replied with a sigh. "For once in my life I wish I didn't love you so much William Turner."

Will laughed at that. Their marriage had been postponed for so many reasons now it felt good to hear those words from her lips again. He shuffled closer, tenderly wrapping his hands around Elizabeth's, as she held the compass still within her palm, "We'll find him together Elizabeth."

The needlepoint flickered back and forth between the two lovers dwindling sometimes more to the right and left before it made a full circle and snapped in an entirely new direction all together. Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. Feeling Will's fingers curl comfortingly around hers. "We did it."

Will relieved her fingers giving them a soft kiss before turning and noting down their heading on a parchment on the desk. "We should be able to head straight Northeast without any trouble," he informed her quietly, "as long as Commodore Norrington is able to find a crew."

As his sentence hung on the air, the heavy clump off footsteps sounded from the deck.

…

Gibbs bent his knees, to sit next to Jack with a sigh. The sand felt good underneath him, warm and soft, not quite like a bed or hammock he had aboard the Pearl, but it would certainly do. For now. He risked a glance at Jack, but the slumped shoulders warned him not to start up a conversation. Best leave the Captain to his brooding.

The first mate rubbed his chin, grazing the stubble that had accumulated there, before reaching into his shirt and retrieving the small flask of rum that he always kept about his person. He'd managed to salvage it from the Pearl, good thing too as it was about to come in handy.

Jack accepted the small flask Gibbs offered him, keeping his dark eyes downcast. He lifted it to his lips, letting the liquor trickle down his parched throat. The fiery liquid did nothing to quench his thirst, but nonetheless he appreciated the sentiment. He nodded his head slightly in thanks to Gibbs, handing him back the flask with a stretched grin. Gibbs took it carefully, but instead of placing it back in his pocket he lay it on the sand between them, easily within Jack's reach if he needed it later on.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, the golden light of the fire flickering in Jack's black eyes. The Captain of the Black Pearl closed those eyes solemnly, breathing out a tired, almost indiscernible, breath. "We'll get her back…" he murmured, more to himself than to the man next to him as they sat watching the fire dance, "don't you worry abou' that."

…

…

_Thanks for reading._


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